A Winter Day's Wind
by Sakura Tsukikage
Summary: A young girl from a former samurai family meets a small, redhaired wanderer one day on the street. It is a meeting that will change her life. Set during Kenshin's years of wandering.
1. Chapter 1

Part One: Wind

The little man walks down the crowded street, avoiding the gazes of others with a practiced ease that suggests he is accustomed to keeping those deep eyes the same violet color as haha-ue's favorite kimono averted from questioning looks. People look at him askance because of the patches on his faded kimono and frayed gray hakama and the sword at his side, whisking the ends of their kimono out of his path and whispering behind their hands, but he doesn't seem to notice, keeping his gaze on the street a few feet ahead of him as if it is the only thing he sees. But Io can see his slender shoulders tighten and hunch and knows he hears them whether he shows it or not, and the whispers leave scars less obvious than the strange cross-shaped mark on his cheek.

Io can't help it—the strange, small man is fascinating to her. His hair is the same color as the glowing coals in the fire, as the sun when it sets in the sky, and it tangles silkily around him as the wind tears at the fine strands, whipping it out of its tail and around his face. He doesn't look up from the road in front of him and yet he somehow avoids even bumping into anyone on the crowded street. Even though the wind is cold and winter is coming, he doesn't shiver, though his ragged kimono is thin and he wears it loose. What she can see of his chest is thin and pale, and Io can count his ribs.

"Sumimasen," she murmurs to the storekeeper with whom she had been haggling over the price of a daikon radish, and she ducks out of the shop and back into the street, agilely dodging passerby until she reaches the small man's side. There are advantages to being small, and Io has learned all of them by now. "Sumimasen," she says again when she reaches him because she has been raised to always be polite and she's trying to get his attention, but he doesn't respond. She hesitates a little, trying to figure out what to call him. He is too small and looks too young, his face smooth and unlined, to be an ojisan. "Sumimasen, oniisan?" she says again, falling into step beside him. When he still doesn't respond, she reaches out to touch his sleeve.

He gives a strange, shuddering movement at the contact and looks up slowly from the ground until he can look her in the face. His bizarre but beautiful violet eyes are deep and dark and haunted, and the color and the pain deep within them catches and holds Io until he blinks, slowly, and the swirl of lavender agony recedes a bit, like a storm calming in his eyes. "G-gomen," he says softly, and his voice is quiet and almost fragile-sounding, nothing like the loud, demanding voices of the men she is accustomed to. He lifts one hand and pushes strands of fiery hair back out of his eyes. "Did ojou-dono want something?"

Io almost laughs at his overly formal form of address, but there is a quiet gravity in his features that stops her. "You must be cold, oniisan," she says instead.

He smiles, a slight quirk of the lips that is a wistful mixture of sweetness and sadness. Something about it tugs at Io's heart. "It is very kind of ojou-dono to think of it, but sessha is fine, de gozaru," he says, and gently removes his sleeve from her grasp.

Io hesitates, because he doesn't look fine. There are deep, bruised-looking shadows in the hollows around his eyes, and his lips are tinged with blue. "Oniisan," she blurts, then hesitates again.

"Hai?" he says again, and his voice is still gentle and soft. "What is it, de gozaru ka?

"You don't look fine," she finally says, admitting exactly what she thinks.

He actually smiles and laughs a little. "Sessha sees you're not one to let something go so easily, de gozaru."

"It's freezing," Io says, dancing a little on her feet to chase away the persistent chill as she does so. "Oniisan must be cold."

His smile widens. "Sessha is a little cold, ojou-dono. But not enough to matter."

Io can feel her mouth curve downwards into a frown as she tries to process this statement. It doesn't make any sense. How can being cold not matter? "Do you have somewhere to go, oniisan?" she asks finally.

His smile dims a little, getting that sad edge again. "Don't worry about sessha, little one."

By this Io understands that he doesn't have anywhere to go, after all. She takes a deep breath. "Do you want to come home with me, then? We have a few extra rooms since ani-ue—" she bits her lip and breaks off, remembering that haha-ue doesn't want her talking about ani-ue and his death two years ago because he had fought for the wrong side. She doesn't understand—after all, ani-ue is still ani-ue, no matter who he'd fought for—but haha-ue always tells her that she's only a little girl and too young to possibly understand, and Io supposes she must be right.

But the red-haired man acts as if she hasn't suddenly broken off in mid-sentence. "That is very kind of you, ojou-dono," he says. "But sessha couldn't possibly impose."

"It wouldn't be an imposition," Io continues recklessly. "And my name is Io."

"Io-dono," the red-haired man says with a slight smile. "And you may call sessha Rurouni."

Io blinked. "That's not a name," she says.

He smiles again. "True, Io-dono. But it's the only name sessha can give you, de gozaru."

"Why don't you come with me?" Io adds. "I need someone to help me carry the tofu back, anyway."

The rurouni smiles and tilts his head to one side. "All right, Io-dono. Sessha will help you with the tofu, de gozaru."

Io smiles, pleased that she has gotten her way and that the red-haired man will be going back with her.

**Japanese Terms Glossary: **

Haha-ue: Archaic, fairly formal term for "mother."

Kimono: Japanese clothing.

Hakama: Loose Japanese trousers.

Sumimasen: Excuse me.

Ojisan: Uncle, a term many Japanese use to refer to any older man.

Oniisan: Older brother. I don't know if Japanese use it the same way they use ojisan, but Io is a creative person.

Gomen: Sorry.

Ojou-dono: I don't know if this is a term, but ojousan is an extremely polite word for "miss," so I figured Kenshin would just use the "dono" instead of the "san."

Sessha: Term Kenshin uses to refer to himself. Means something like "this unworthy one."

De gozaru: very polite form of "desu," which means "is." A very formal way of ending sentences.

Ka: Japanese verbal question mark.

Ani-ue: Archaic, polite term for older brother.

Hai: Japanese yes.

-Dono: The extremely deferentional honorific Kenshin puts on the names of almost everyone he knows.

**Author's Note:**

Okay, random RuroKen drabble. Just felt like writing a story set during Kenshin's ten years of wandering about someone else who's life he might have impacted, but I don't know if I'll go on or not. Tell me what you think and I'll see. The girl, Io, is named after and based on a woman named Shibue Io who lived earlier in the period and was an interesting and tomboyish sort of girl, though the character is an original character not a historical figure. Just thought I'd play around with that a little.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **And here it (finally) is. This story isn't my first priority, so it's going to take a little while to update. But it will be updated. Eventually. I promise.

**Disclaimer:** My name is Sakura Tsukikage, not Nobuhiro Watsuki. If I were Nobuhiro Watsuki, I'd be drawing, not writing.

Part Two:

The rurouni is stronger than he looks, for he carries the buckets of tofu back with no effort at all when Io would have been sweating and exhausted by the time she returned home. He is quiet on the way, but Io chatters, glad to have someone to talk to who actually listens and doesn't tell her not to be foolish, or that little girls shouldn't be so loud, or not to talk right now, I'm busy. Instead, the rurouni smiles and asks her questions and _listens_, even when she talks about things that don't really matter, like the patterns the shadows of the clouds make on the surface of the road. The rurouni is good at listening, not too quiet and not too loud, and she's never met an adult who treated her like what she said was interesting before.

They're getting close to home when Io lets the thread of conversation twist off into the wind. They walk in silence for a few moments, until she asks, "Did I talk too much? Am I bothering you?"

The rurouni smiles and shakes his head. "Not at all, Io-dono. Sessha thinks your conversation is very interesting, de gozaru yo."

"Really?" Io blinks, surprised. She's never expected an adult to say anything like that to her.

"Really," the rurouni replies. He stares off into the cloud-covered sky for a moment, then says, so quietly Io almost misses it, "Sessha has missed talking."

And Io thinks that is sad. She wonders what happened to the rurouni to make him so lonely, because she doesn't think he should have to be. "Will you stay with us for supper, Rurouni-niisan?" she asks as they approach her house.

He looks down at her and shakes her head, red hair flopping down into his face. "Sessha couldn't impose on your family like that, Io-dono."

Io shifts uneasily from foot to foot. "It wouldn't be an imposition," she tells him, and it's almost true. If haha-ue isn't there, Masato-jichan won't mind if they have a guest. And haha-ue is visiting Kimiko-basan so she probably won't be there.

The rurouni shakes his head anyway. "Gomen nasai, Io-dono. Sessha . . ." he takes a deep breath, and there is a tremor in that voice somewhere. "Sessha can't."

Io can't let it go at that. The rurouni is thin and tired, and he looks like he needs food, and she doesn't want him to go so soon, not when she's enjoying his company so much and he's the first adult who's ever really talked to her since ani-ue . . . died. "Please, rurouni-niisan?" she asks. "_Please_?" Haha-ue would frown and tell her not to be so rude, but the rurouni doesn't. He just smiles a little, and for a moment Io thinks he is going to reach down and touch her, but then he withdraws his hand and rests his slender, too-pale fingers on the edge of the tofu bucket. They clench tightly against the rough wood, the only sign of any sort of emotion that he exhibits at all.

"S-sessha—" he says uncertainly, stammering a little, "sessha couldn't, Io-dono."

Io shakes her head. "Iya, Rurouni-niisan. Stay for dinner. Eat with us." She grabs his hand and drags him along after her, determined that this time he's not going to succeed in putting her off.

"Oro?" the rurouni says, sounding surprised, but he leaves his hand in hers. His fingers are slender and thin, his skin chill, rough and chapped and callused against her own softer palm. His hand seems to fit well clasped in hers, and Io thinks again that the rurouni is awfully small for a grown-up man. "Io-dono," the rurouni says, protesting, but he is laughing a little. It is the first time she's heard him laugh at all, and Io thinks he should do it more often.

"Come on," she says. "Masato-jichan is a great cook," she adds after a moment in a coaxing tone.

The rurouni shakes his head, and his hand relaxes in hers. "Sessa concedes," he says lightly. "Sessha will eat dinner at Io-dono's house."

**Glossary: **More fun with Japanese . . . .

jichan--affectionate term for uncle, often used for any older man a person is close with

basan--term of aunt, often used for any older woman


End file.
